


Detail Work

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Cable (Comics), Marvel 616, Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, Face-Sitting, Frank Castle is an Idiot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 11:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20308441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: It's all meaningless detail.





	Detail Work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inbox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbox/gifts).

Frank makes a lot of excuses for letting this happen, for how often he lets it happen, for going on doing the things that lead to it happening again and again. 

He tells himself the world is dark enough without abstaining from something that feels good. He tells himself it's for relaxation and he'd have to jack off anyway, so why not let it happen. He tells himself the work he and Cable do together is cleaner, faster, and generally more satisfying that the small-time shit he usually deals with, gives him access to bigger things to dig into later.

He never tells himself it won't happen again. He's let this go on too many times to even attempt that lie anymore.

Part of it -- most of it, likely -- is that Cable makes it so easy. It feels good, and there's not a whole lot of bullshit built up around it. Cable doesn't pretend to be interested in Frank for his conversational skill or for some kind of deeper companionship; he brings him along on jobs because he needs a hard body who can follow orders, someone who will not just listen to a plan but carry it out to the letter.

Truth is, Frank likes being a weapon other people can shoot, when the other person is worth listening to. Cable's proven himself trustworthy over and over, and letting that trust lead from working together to fucking had been much easier, felt much more natural that Frank had expected. Cable fucks him like its his right, leads him by the nose -- by the dick might be more apt -- and blows his mind wide open every time with how good he makes it.

Any more, it's not really a question if this is going to happen. There had been a point when they'd first started where Frank pretended he wasn't willing to do anything, like he wasn't starved for the contact and affection in equal measure while Cable pretended he wasn't certain Frank would talk himself into allowing it. That made him, Frank figured, a damn polite telepath, since Cable had no trouble telling him that he was as open and easy to read as it was possible to be, and when he got horny he got _ loud _.

"I like a nice loud slut," he'd said once, reassurance when Frank had turned that ugly red. "Screaming how bad you need it for anyone that's got the ability to hear."

Frank figures he should just be grateful that most folks can't read minds. 

Because Cable laying under him, hands greedy on his ass, holding him open to eat him out like fine meal? It's all he can do not to be screaming for real. 

It's something about being handled. Cable's huge, a wet dream for anyone into muscle or raw power. Frank's six-three and Cable towers over him, built for strength with that gleaming metal arm and that boxy face so often set in a grim expression. Cable can pick Frank up and move him how he wants, and if he's not really physically strong enough to do it unassisted -- Frank thinks he might be, though, just by the size of him -- then he's got that telekinetic shit working for him.

He's got Frank sitting on his face, he's eating him out with a fervor, like it's the only thing he's been thinking about for days, and Frank doesn't have to worry about holding his own balance, he doesn't have to worry about breaking Cable's nose with any errant motion; Frank couldn't get away if he wanted, even if he _ is _the guy on top just now. Cable takes care of him, makes every second of this feel good, until the good is seeping out of Frank's skin like sweet, til Frank's brains are shooting out his dick, and then he gives Frank enough time to catch his breath before doing it all over again. 

And if Cable says things sometimes, kind things, gentle promises, offers of support or help with things that are Frank's alone to shoulder, well, Frank thinks that's just how people are wired sometimes. Cable doesn't give him soft, lingering looks except on occasion after they've both shot their wad, and he doesn't offer to help Frank with any but the worst of his hurts. It makes sense for him to chase a migraine away before it can nest in, because Frank's no help to him if he's incapacitated by pain. It makes sense for him to check that Frank's healed up proper after seeing him hurt bad from buckshot, because he needs to know how fit Frank is to use him properly on the field.

All the rest of it is just noise, diffuse and meaningless. It's details, and you could lose yourself in the details, looking for some grander purpose, or you could accept it as it comes and move forward.

Frank's the sort to move forward, so if it makes something in his chest tighten and ache when Cable's fingers lace through his own, squeezing in rhythm with Frank's every gasping breath like they're keeping time together, Frank knows better than to examine that feeling.


End file.
